


open for me

by Anonymous



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Anal Play, Bellamy does not participate in the actual bad stuff, Breeding Kink, F/M, Just in the gratuitous hopeful ending, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Spanking, Piss, Punishment, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Smut, Watersports, and a gratuitously hopeful ending, blork should probably not be tagged but sue me, piss drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-27 21:28:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30129093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: For the march 2021 kink meme prompt: "Clarke gets sent to serve the Chancellor and hates the way his hot piss and cum taste in her mouth so why is she starting to crave it when it isn’t her turn? I mean, it is an honour to serve the Chancellor, right?"(but it got a little off target)
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Clarke Griffin/Marcus Kane
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28
Collections: Anonymous





	open for me

**Author's Note:**

> read the tags

“I hate you.”

The look he gives her is one more of surprise than anything else. “I didn’t say you could speak.”

Both of those things are true. Clarke hates him, hates him more than she’s hated anyone ever in her life. He didn’t say she could speak, and she hates that that matters, hates that she’s on her knees in front of him, naked on the cold metal floor of his compartment. She hates each time she’s brought here, and she hates that when’s she’s not, she wonders why.

It’s disgusting, what he makes her do.

She hates him.

Before she was put in the sky box, the only penises she’d seen were in the clinic, on children and babies. She was too young to do a urology rotation, her mom had told her, not that Clarke had been eager anyways. That was six months ago, now.

She’d spent the first three of those months in solitary. No visits, no contact, not even a video screen. When they first brought her to Kane, she hadn’t understood what was happening, she was too grateful to be out, to see people again, other human beings.

She guesses that was part of the strategy.

Clarke watches him watching her, his eyes assessing. She tries not to flinch when he takes another gulp of his drink.

“You know I don’t like to gag you,” he says, tone too casual for the words. She does know. He likes her mouth to be available.

He had, the first few times. She guess he didn’t trust her, or maybe he just didn’t want to hear her sobs. The guards had brought her in, stripped her, and gagged her; latching her cuffs to a loop conveniently installed in the floor. Kane didn’t even touch her, the first time. He just looked, and watched. She hadn’t understood why she was there, why they’d taken her clothes, until he’d unzipped his pants. Even then, he just looked, and stroked. She’d thrashed then against her bonds, sobbing into the gag, but there was nothing she could do. No way to escape the hot splash of his cum across her cheeks.

She’d thought he was done then, thought it was over and she’d be taken back to her cell, but Kane had smiled, pointing his flaccid cock at her. Clarke was looking, wondering what he could possibly mean to do with it, and that meant the first stream hit her in the eyes. His piss soaked her hair, running down her face as she writhed, trying to get away, to make it stop. It soaked into the gag, bitter and salty on her tongue. Clarke had thought nothing could be worse.

He hadn’t pissed down her throat until maybe the sixth time. It felt like years ago.

“Come here,” Kane orders. She’s no longer cuffed directly to the floor like she was then. No, Clarke gets a leash now, six whole feet of freedom. She’s earned it.

She crawls to him, glaring as the hard floor bruises her knees. Kane sits back in his chair, patting the tops of his thighs. Clarke doesn’t wince as she follows the unspoken command.

His hand fondles her bare ass. Clarke lies draped over his lap, stiff as a board. She can feel his cock under her belly, poking into her. Fucking pervert.

“It makes me sad when I have to hurt you, Clarke,” he says lightly, pulling the globes of her ass apart. His fingers slide down her crack, finding the furl of muscle between them. “You understand why you have to be punished?”

Clarke grits her teeth and nods, trying not to flinch away from his probing fingers. Despite herself, she feels heat grow in her belly, something dark and awful and guilty that she doesn’t allow herself to think about.

Kane makes a satisfied noise. “Good.”

And then his palm comes down hard.

Clarke squeaks as he spanks her, despite herself. Tears bud in her eyes, her ass burning from the sting of Kane’s hand and Clarke’s humiliation. No matter how many times he does this, she can’t get used to it. The rain of blows abates, but she knows better than to think it’s over. “Spread your cheeks.”

Wetness glittering on her face, Clarke complies. Her hands reach behind her, grasping her ass and pulling it open so he can see all of her. Her thighs part, because she knows what he wants.

The next slap lands directly on her asshole. Her hole clenches, pain rippling through the muscles. Kane keeps going, landing hits on her pussy, her labia, her asshole, but not her clit. Her clit is too far down, pressing against the rough seam of his pants. She’s not sure why she wonders what it would feel like if it wasn’t.

She’s gasping when he finally finishes. Her cunt is on fire, her asshole aching. Clarke knows it will hurt for days, weeks even. Kane hums, picking up his drink. His sips at it, his free hand slipping through Clarke’s labia, picking up the slick that has begun to leak from her pussy. She bites her lip, humiliated by her body’s reaction. “Does it hurt?” he asks. He sounds pleased, his drink finished. Clarke nods shakily. The Chancellor taps his finger against her asshole, feeling her flinch. “Here?”

She nods again.

He sighs. “Don’t ever say I never did anything nice for you.”

Clarke blinks, confused. His hand leaves her ass, and there’s a clink of ice against glass, then something cold and wet is pressed up against her abused asshole. An ice cube from his drink.

She shivers. It feels— good almost, the cold soothing the burn, but it’s too much. The ice drips as it melts, cold rivulets running down her pussy lips, hitting her clit with a jolt.

She’s right not to trust it. Kane gets bored quickly with the light circles he’s tracing. The ice cube is cylindrical, and he presses the blunt end right to the center of her rosebud. Clarke starts. No, it’s not right, he wouldn’t—

Kane hushes her. He presses harder, forcing the ice into her asshole.

Clarke sobs, clutching at the arm of the chair. He never penetrates her, not between her legs. She assumes it’s part of why he’s allowed to do such horrible things to them(as she assumes it can’t just be her). Some loophole in the Ark charter that says it’s not rape unless there’s anal or vaginal breaching. This— it hurts, more than anything else. The ice is violently cold, and her asshole is painfully stretched around it, not permitted to swallow the rod up inside her.

“Stop,” she begs. “Please, you can’t—”

“I can’t?” Kane laughs, pumping the ice inside her. The alcohol he must have been drinking burns the tender flesh of her hole. “I’m the Chancellor, Clarke. I can do whatever I want. Did you think you were safe? Because I haven’t fucked you yet?” He shoves the rod into her ass, pushing her off his knees.

She yelps as she hits the floor. Kane’s hand grabs at her hair, fisting in the nape of her neck. He twists her so has she to look at him. His breath is hot against her cheeks. “You haven’t earned it yet.”

And he throws her down.

His expression is cold again, eyes impassive. “Unbutton my pants.”

Clarke complies with shaky hands, teetering on her knees. Her pussy hurts, and she can feel the ice melting inside her ass, the water cold as it fills her.

Kane’s cock strains against his briefs. She’s pretty sure it’s large, though she has nothing to compare it to. She hates the sizes, hates the way it chokes her when he presses her face into his pubes. Sometimes he just holds her there, making her take him down her throat until she feels like she’ll pass out. “Take my cock out.”

Not today, though. She’s made him angry, even if he isn’t showing it. He takes her face in his hands. “Open.”

Her mouth falls open.

He guides her down his length slowly, one hand on the collar around her throat, the other on the back of her head. Clarke closes her lips around him, letting him rest heavy on her tongue.

Kane fucks into her mouth. It’s worse like this, worse than when he just chokes her. When he chokes he she knows what’s coming, she knows it’ll end, but this— he forces her to swallow him over and over, forces his way down into her throat and back again and again, ignoring her gags, her yelps, her tears.

“You want me to make it worse?” he growls, using her mouth like taking a cock is all it’s good for. “I can make it worse, whore.” Clarke sobs around his cock, her own arousal dripping down her thighs.

She _hates_ him.

“What do you think your mom would think, if she could see you now? Gagging on my cock like a slut.” He punctuates the words with a harsh shove down her throat. “She begged me for it, you know? Got Jaha removed from the position because she knew he’d never agree and then begged me for it.”

Kanes grunts, the muscles of his stomach flexing. “For the— _ugh_ —the honor of having her daughter serve the Chancellor.”

His cock twitches, and he comes with a groan. The cum is salty on her tongue, on her lips as he pulls his cock from her mouth so it paints her chin. Clarke swallows what she can, panting. Kane taps her cheek with a smile, and she opens her mouth again.

“She was hoping I’d knock you up, I think,” he tells her conspiratorially. “Couldn’t float you if you were pregnant.” Clarke can’t tell if he’s lying. She can picture it, even: Abby taking her blood pressure as she lies chained on the floor of this stupid fucking room, her belly swollen and round with Kane’s seed.

It’s a horrific picture. It makes her thighs clench together.

“But then I’d have to keep you,” he sighs, settling his flaccid cock back onto her tongue. Clarke closes her lips around it, and he strokes her cheek, grinning softly.

“If she only knew how her precious daughter was being used. Just a set of holes. Just a receptacle for my cum—” Clarke tenses, opening her throat for what she knows is coming next. Kane smiles, satisfied. “—and my piss.”

He lets loose in her mouth. She tries to keep her throat relaxed, but the hot splash of urine on her tongue makes her flinch, even after all this time. She’s forced to gulp around him, swallowing desperately so as to not choke on the acrid yellow liquid that fills her mouth. Clarke can feel it pool in her belly, torrents of piss he’s been saving for her throughout the night.

“This is what you’re meant to be,” Kane tells her sweetly, stroking her hair back as she suckles at his cock. “A pretty little urinal.”

Tears stream down Clarke’s cheeks at the words, even as the taste of his piss in her mouth makes her pussy ache. What if he took her there, she thinks? Fucked her cunt hard, filled her up with cum, and pissed inside her to wash it out. She wouldn’t get pregnant then.

She doesn’t want that, she _doesn’t_ , but— she moans around his cock, choking on the last mouthful of his piss. It spills out of her mouth, running down her neck, over her tits, dripping onto the floor.

Kane slaps her across the face. “You know I don’t like it when you waste it. If I wanted to see you wear it, you’d know.” He forces her head to the ground. “Clean it up.”

He stands, making for the door. Clarke can’t help but cry, and her tears mix saltily with the urine as she laps it up desperately. Her cunt clenches down around nothing, horribly empty.

When she looks up, her guard is there, watching with blank eyes while she cleans the Chancellor’s piss off the floor with her tongue. “Take her back when she’s done,” Kane orders, waving a hand dismissively. “Bring me the other one tomorrow.”

The guard nods as Kane disappears into the bathroom. A shower starts behind the door, and Clarke sobs. She won’t get one. She’ll have to wear his fluids on her skin for another two days.

The guard moves to unlock her leash from the floor. He holds it tightly, watching as Clarke licks the cold metal floor, making sure she got all the piss she spilled.

“You like it,” he says. His voice is surprised, not accusing, but Clarke starts anyways. None of the guards have ever spoken to her before.

“What?”

“You like it,” he repeats. “What he does to you.”

Clarke stiffens, sitting back on her heels. She wipes the cum and piss off her mouth. “I don’t.”

“Really?” He raises one dark eyebrow, looking pointedly at the shine between her thighs, the way they press together, desperate for friction. Clarke looks down, lips thinning unhappily. She catches the shift he throws her, pulling it over her head.

“I don’t have a choice,” she grits, standing.

He leads her out into the hallway. Unlike her other guards, he falls into step beside her, the leash slack between his fist and her collar.

“Why?”

Clarke’s eyes flit to the man beside her, annoyed. “Why what?”

He gives her a look again, like she’s being willfully stupid. Clarke bristles. “Why do you like it?”

“I—” She starts to deny it, but the lack of malice in his brown eyes makes her swallow the lie. “He’s the only person who looks at me. Who talks to me. Even if the things he does are horrible— they make me feel real.”

The guard frowns as he unlocks the door to her cell. “That’s pretty fucking sad, you know that right?”

Clarke snorts, shrugging tearfully. He follows her inside, reaching up to unlock the collar from her neck. His hands brush against her skin, warm and soft. “I don’t want to feel so alone all the time. He’s all there is for me. All there ever will be, anymore.”

“He’s not,” the guard promises. The collar falls away from her throat. “It won’t always be like this, princess.”

Clarke takes a step back and turns, unable to face the soft look in his eyes. “It will. But thanks.”

~~~

She’s wrong, of course. She’s wrong, and he’s right.

He doesn’t say it though, when she meets his eyes halfway down the ladder. “Stop!” Clarke calls, her voice cutting through the crowd of kids. “The air could be toxic!”

Her guard’s lips curl into a grin, his expression warm. _Welcome back,_ it says.

**Author's Note:**

> boo


End file.
